Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride (Scandalous Seasons #1)(57)

Emmaline chewed her lip. “I will never, ever feel this way—about another, hat.” Her words were strong with conviction.

“No, no you may not. But nonetheless, you will find one and you will learn to love it. Do you understand?”

She nodded against his knee, again feeling like a little girl.

Sebastian set the hat down on the bench beside him. During her childhood, he’d used to tease her mercilessly about her concerns over Lord Drake’s devotion. As the years passed and it became clear that there was credence to her fears, he’d ceased tormenting her. He then became the protective one. The brother who assured her that she was, indeed, wanted. Now, he was the brother who was being truthful. She loved him even more for that.

“I’m never going to be happy again,” she said, nearly choking on the words.

A hoarse sound lodged in Sebastian’s throat, and he dragged her unceremoniously off the ground into his arms. He took her by the shoulders and gave her a slight shake. “Listen to me. You are beautiful and kind and smart. Someday you will find a gentlemen deserving of your love and it will be Drake’s loss. He made a foolish mistake and someday I’m certain he’ll realize that.”

Emmaline buried a gasping sob in his jacket front. “For all the consolation that is. Oh God, I’ve become a watering pot.”

He tugged out a kerchief and wiped her nose. “A rather messy one at that.”

She claimed the kerchief and held it to her face while she wept. “He never wanted our betrothal. Why?”

Sebastian cursed and took her by the shoulders. “Look at me. He is flawed.”

Emmaline bit her lip. In spite of what had come to pass between her and Drake, in spite of his unwillingness to commit, not defending him felt like a betrayal. She thought about his loss of control in the gardens and felt an urge to defend him. Sebastian would call her all kinds the fool for trying to disabuse him of his notions.

Yes, Drake was scarred. But that had neither here nor there to do with why he didn’t want her.

Sebastian folded an arm over Emmaline’s shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. He waited until her tears abated to a watery hiccough. “Better?” he asked.

Oh Sebastian, I’m not a child anymore. One good, healthy cry could not erase the waves of hurt cascading over her. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she’d never be better, that this hurt would always be there. “Better,” she lied.

Sebastian brightened and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. He picked up her hat and set it atop her head. “I’m serious. I am getting you a new hat, whether you like it or not.”

Emmaline managed a laugh. “Someday you’ll realize, you just can’t find the perfect hat, just anywhere.”

Sebastian winked at her. “We shall see about that.”





Chapter 26

Dearest Drake,

Do you ever find it odd we’ve been betrothed for eleven years and yet have only met a handful of times?

Ever Yours, Emmaline

From where Drake stood at the edge of the ballroom, a sea of dancers swirled by him. A champagne flute dangled between his fingers.

He ignored the merriment; the gay laughter, the ton gossiping about the latest on dit—all of it.

Emmaline occupied every corner of his mind, in the same way she occupied every corner of his heart.

Since he’d stormed out of Sin’s townhouse, Drake could not rid himself of a ravaging guilt over the insults he’d leveled at her.

It turned out she’d not enlisted Sinclair’s aid. In spite of his ugly accusations, Emmaline possessed too much integrity and honor to betray Sin.

Should he really be surprised? She was, after all, the same woman who’d used her own body to shield an old peddler in the streets.

He could live ten lifetimes and never find another woman he’d rather wed.

Drake took a sip of champagne. He had returned home and awaited a summons from the Duke of Mallen. His mouth hardened. He knew the other man would delight in ending the agreement between their families.

He’d spent the day seated in his father’s library, his copy of Glenarvon on his lap. Memories had consumed him; the moment he’d seen her standing in a pile of refuse, the day he’d startled her at the Old Corner Bookshop. Memory after memory filled him, and he forced himself into a painful recollection of each one.

Drake recognized Emmaline’s decision was for the best. And yet, with each tick of the clock, dread had filled him as he awaited a letter from the Duke of Mallen.

The day had come and gone. Strangely, it was as though nothing had changed. Drake even convinced himself that mayhap he’d imagined the whole blasted exchange with Emmaline.

He perused the crowded ballroom, longing for just one glimpse of her impish smile. Except when last she’d left him, she hadn’t been smiling. He remembered the circumstances of their last meeting and lashed himself with the painful memory of her request to be free.

He tossed back the last of his champagne.

She didn’t know which event he was attending and God knew she certainly wouldn’t be approaching him with a smile. Which was the reason he’d taken pains to send a servant around from his household to the Duke of Mallen’s household to ascertain Lady Emmaline’s plans for the evening.

A slight flutter in the doorway caught his attention, and then his breath left on a hiss.